DISCLAIMER: Basically, to put it in simple dictation, all the characters in
Disney's Newsies belong to Disney. *SuRpRiSe* All the characters NOT in
Disney's Newsies belong to me, with the exception of Angel-she belongs to
herself. ^_^
A.N. Okay, short shout-outs this time around. ^_^ Lots of love to: Tiger, Chewy, imaginelet, kellyanne, Drama-Queen, Rhapsody, Lovable, asp, and StupidChocolateGurl, Random, dot, and Isabelle Gibson! Thank you everyone! Wow, this story has been long in the making, huh? And it's...almost done! *grabs Runner and starts sobbing* Hahaha. Well, for those of you who want to read a story of mines on the side, check out "The Brooklyn Boys". w00t w00t!
*Just A Little Bet*
The Manhattan distribution center was crowded with throngs of newsies as the paper-peddling youth of the borough waited in a huddle to obtain their share of editions, some playfully brawling with each other, others talking in low voices, and most trying to drive away the tiredness of yet another day. Jack Kelly was at the front of the line as always, his well- defined form leaned onto the brick exterior of the office before him, a grin plastered across his face. His hazel eyes were of a bright honey shade and glowed with playful expectation at the one whose sight they beheld.
"So Vixen...ya thinkin' of sleepin in the boys' bunkroom tahnight?" As he spoke, he wound his hands in and out of the bandana he held, giving them some distraction to tend to as to not deal full attention on the girl.
Vixen crossed her arms with a smirk and raised an eyebrow at the inquiry. Upon first meeting him, she had had every notion to assume Jack a serious fellow, never one to offer sly and devious comments to a lady whose company he desired. Unlike the scabs in Brooklyn, Jack's newsies were somewhat more tolerant and cordial, the gentlemen of the lower class. Yet here the leader was, never ceasing in trying to break her guards, especially when an audience of his boys was nearby.
"Nah," she said slowly, diverting her gaze as if in deep thought. "I'se hoid there's alotta rats in that damn hellhole of yours, and not all of them is rodents." She winked at him, then, and walked forth to cut him in line.
Jack rolled his eyes while Blink, Bumlets, Race, and Much laughed, but remained of a suave demeanor while he kept up his post upon the wall his body leaned against. He tied his bandana around his neck and then relaxed his arms at his sides, all the while staring at Vixen's figures, one side of his mouth upturned into a smirk.
Drumming his fingers against the wall, he ignored the snickering of his friends and instead thought upon how he could possibly win this girl over. She was a sexpot...smart and cunning. She wasn't going to let this be any easier for him than he would make it for her, but he appreciated that. It made the experience all the more worthwhile.
A few minutes passed and he grew restless. What was taking the distributors so long today? Usually, the newsies were situated with their papers and ready to hawk headlines by an hour past dawn. Jack shuffled his feet so as to prevent them from falling asleep and let his eyes once again fall upon Vixen's backside. Her long caramel-colored locks trailed down her back like velvet streamers, filling the Manhattan leader with an urge to comb his fingers through them.
Then again, he knew doing something of the like when a handful of his newsies were undoubtedly watching would spread the rumor that he was going soft. He groaned and fixed his cowboy hat further down his head to hide in the shadows it cast across his face. The sun was steadily growing strong and he would have nothing to do with its burning rays.
"Ya know what I wonder, Jack?"
He looked up; a bit surprised Vixen had spoken. She was still facing the other way, but somehow it meant much knowing she had been the first to start the conversation. "Why we'se aint never slept together? Yea, I know. I wonders 'bout that too a lot. Alls ya gotta do is ask me, though, sweet face. I'll take ya fer a ride any night."
Vixen turned to face him now, gracing his pride with a wicked smile. "Oh trust me, Jack. When I'se wants tah sleep wid youse, you'll know it. You'd get as much of me as ya want but won't ever feel a damn thing cause it'll all be in ya sick dreams."
They tried to stare down each other after this, but seeing that neither was willing to renounce pride and walk away from the duel, Jack spoke up, eyes affixed on Vixen. "So what did ya wanna know darlin'?"
Tired of this trivial game, she stepped closer to him and rested her back onto the wall beside him, able to see the line of newsies extend in a queue that far exceeded any length she knew. How many street rats like her were there? Her mind began to deliberate this issue, but when she felt Jack's eyes pierce through her flesh she remembered what she had wanted to ask of him.
"Didn't ya say something 'bout youse not wantin' anything tah do wid Brooklyn?"
Jack shrugged. "Yea," he answered simply.
"Well, then why did ya help Spot when he came over heah fer Manhattan's help? I mean, youse went off every night 'bout how much ya hated the bastard and how ya wished he'd get what was comin' tah him one day...but as soon as he comes knockin' on ya door fer help, ya jump. I just, I dunno...I'se just aint never understood that I guess."
Jack wasn't sure what had prompted her to ask the question, but he was thankful to the source nonetheless. He hadn't even discussed with his own emotions why he had been so forgiving when Spot was at his time of need. Why hadn't he slammed the door in Spot's face? Why hadn't he simply claim that Runner wasn't Manhattan's problem? He supposed it, first of all, had to do with the fact that Runner *was* everyone's problem, for he was best friend to almost everyone within the alliance community. This being realized, he certainly couldn't turn down an attempt to rescue the young Conlon from Brooklyn's top enemy.
Then there was the case of Jack's run-in with Spot. Any sane person would have to admit that the comrades arguing over some girl they both knew nothing about was pure ludicrous! They had been best friends for the longest of time...how could they let something so absurd get in the way of that friendship? Jack knew this, and he assumed Spot did as well. But both were too prideful to admit it.
Up until Brooklyn required Manhattan's help. Jack couldn't imagine what it had taken for the most revered newsie throughout the state to embrace humility and confess he needed help...that the almighty Spot Conlon, hero of the young riffraff's legends, wasn't as infallible as the tales depicted him. Maybe Jack thought that an apology all in itself, for Spot had never before submitted himself to anyone...and vowed he never again would.
"I don't know," was Jack's only reply after all that thought. "I guess it's just stupid holdin' things against someone, ya know? Shoah we'se done some stupid crap tah each other, and have fought fer no reason. But above all, Spot's me best friend, so I aint gunna stop talkin' tah him or anything."
Vixen nodded, fully understanding. "I think I know what ya mean," she said softly, her eyes almost glazed. "Me and Runnah were like the woise enemies youse would ever see. God, I hated that kid...and I coulda sworn he wanted tah kill me sometimes. We'se cursed each other out, fought for Spot's attention, and just tried tah find ways tah get the other kicked outta Brooklyn fer good."
The distribution office opened, and Vixen momentarily paused her reiteration to buy her daily supply of forty papers. She descended the mini staircase on the side of the platform situated before the office and waited for Jack to collect his editions. When the Manhattan leader joined her minutes later, they started to walk on together towards the streets.
"When I found out that Runnah was in a coma," she finished, "I found meself prayin' that he'd wake up. Yea, me and the kid has been through hell, but no one desoives tah die the way he was beaten up. At least no one like him. Seein' him near dead at the hospital made me forgive him fer everything." She smiled up at him and was inwardly warmed to see him smile back.
Jack draped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "Awww, Vixie. Youse is goin' soft on someone? Before ya know it, you'll be kissin' the kid and tellin' him youse will always be heah fer him."
"Actually, that's already been done, sweetheart. At the party we'se held fer him last night? Well, I felt so bad that I figured I owed him as much." She laughed at his displeased face, pulled away from his embrace, and walked off proud as ever.
Jack glared after her. Why did Runner always get the girls?
~*~*~*~*~
Scribbling away on a piece of paper while in the silent confines of his private room in the monastery, Runner's lips were graced with a smile as his mind set its thinking elsewhere. Brooklyn and Manhattan had thrown him a 'homecoming' party at Irving Hall, one which had required him to sneak away from his father's supervision to attend, and it had proven to be quite the bash. Everyone had seemed to be enthralled that he was once again in good health, and that alone made him feel of more human worth. Even once- enemies had wished him well upon learning that he had awoken from his coma.
Medda sang a special song for his return, her beautiful eyes directed solely on him the whole time. It was enough to make all the others incredibly envious...enough to make Runner grin all the more at the fine treatment he was receiving. His teachers were understanding whenever he wished to leave class early because of 'headaches' and the load of work he received from classes drastically decreased from its typical size. He was, to say the least, living quite the life.
Although he didn't particularly like his father any more for the unkind words he had spoken to Spot at the hospital that one night. Runner had learned of the event from Angel, and though he wasn't too surprised, it still disappointed him that the man dared obtain the audacity to speak to Spot in such a condescending manner. Well, he could speak for himself all he wished, the young Conlon decided, but Runner would never turn his back on his own blood.
His anger coursing through him, he erred in a sentence he had been translating into another language, the ink blotting across the thin paper in an unattractive smear. Runner groaned, crumbled the sheet into a ball, and started over yet again. He knew one day he'd have to stand up to his father, himself, but things were just too hard nowadays. For once thing, his parents treated him as if he were a fragile, glass ornament that would shatter any minute if mishandled. It drove him utterly mad, especially when they prohibited him from socializing with large crowds during recreation and dropped him out of the sport teams he had been planning to participate in during late spring.
Sure he still wore the cloth bandage about his forehead, but he was healthier than ever! Why couldn't they see that? Another thing that worried him was his father's refusal to let him be in the company of the newsies. Runner cursed; the newsies were the best friends he had ever met! He'd sooner leave this lifestyle than sacrifice his friendship with them.
It seemed as if Father Romanik was the only one who understood him sometimes. Unlike Runner's own dad, Father Romanik cared nothing for social classes, wealth, or other petty matters of the like and he wasn't in any bit a hypocrite. He was an honest, kind man with a big heart who was always ready to hear one out. When was the last time Father Conlon had mirrored such attributes?
Runner shook his head and pushed the matter aside. It only frustrated him to think of his father, so why should he stress himself out with the thoughts? His hand taking up the natural flow of translating, he once more let his subconscious disengage to daydreams.
He had just reached the last few sentences in his document when someone knocked upon his door, startling him and causing his pen's ink to daub across the paper that would've been his final draft.
"Come in," he sighed, as he ripped the sheet down the middle and disposed of it. He fully expected his visitor to be either his mother or father, come to retrieve him for some service he had all but forgotten, yet when the person didn't speak right away, Runner looked up from his desk and was rendered speechless at the sight before him. It was Mallory! His heart had been with her all along, and when he hadn't seen her at Irving Hall the other night, he wouldn't grant his mind the pleasure of dwelling on the reasons why. Though he hadn't seen her at all during lunch or in the hallways of school, he knew that she would eventually come to him if she cared about him as he did her.
Mallory shyly walked into the room and closed the door behind her, not being able to wipe the smile from her face as she did so. They both knew she was skipping class to be there, but neither of them really cared. She folded her hands behind her back and stood looking at him, as if unsure of what to do. If anything, she hoped that he would not sense her palpitating heart and nervousness.
Runner's grin spread from ear to ear. He arose to his feet in a quick movement, walked around his desk, and approached the girl affectionately. "Mallory, I thought the administration had sent you home...where've you been?" When he was just inches from her, he held out his arms and beckoned her forth. She willingly accepted the gesture and they stood in a gripping hug for the following moments, cherishing every single second.
"Oh, I've been here," she said softly, her arms still around his neck and her head resting upon his shoulder. "I just wanted to give you time to...recuperate, I guess."
Holding her like that, he knew he didn't want to let go. Ever. She felt so soft within his arms, a treasure only for him. He wanted to squeeze her tighter and tell her how much he had missed her; he wanted to entangle his fingers with the curls of her hair and tell her how much she meant to him. Feeling her against him, her breath against his skin and her body pressed into his own, made him want to simply confess his feelings for her.
He breathed in her scent and then slowly pulled away, still embracing her. "Mallory, Valentine's Night I believe we started something we never got to finish." His eyes shone brighter than a jewel hit by the sun's rays, and one could already tell he was about to become the happiest young man alive. He caressed the girl's cheek with one hand and then inch by inch, leaned in towards her lips, every fiber in him aching to taste their sweetness.
But just as he was about to lock the kiss, Mallory stepped back out of his arms and looked away, her face clouding over to hide her thoughts.
"What's the matter?" Runner asked in sheer confusion, stepping closer to her. When she didn't retreat, he continued on until he was holding her again. But she wouldn't look him eye to eye. He placed his thumb below her chin and raised her face upwards. "Mallory," he whispered. "What's wrong? I thought this is what you wanted."
Mallory hugged herself timidly and walked to Runner's desk where she could have the firm structure to lean upon, fearing her knees would give out from under her if she stood without support. She watched with sad eyes as Runner followed her suit worriedly, though he made her all the more tense by choosing to stand right in front of her, one hand placed on the desk to her left.
"Are you okay?" he asked then, when no conversation had passed between the two after a minute. She nodded, but uttered no reply. "Do you want to go back to class? I mean, if you're worried about getting caught, I'll just meet up with you later. It's really no..."
"Lucas, it's not that," she answered, her voice so gentle. She was still trying to figure out why she wasn't shaking as uneasy as she was. Runner's emerald irises seemed to penetrate her defenses to see clearly the lies her heart kept locked up. Did he know about her rendezvous with Spot? Was he waiting for her to reveal it in her own words? Her eyes grew watery as she thought upon the pain she might cause him if he, in fact, was unaware of the event! In place of the love he so dearly showed towards her, would there be only hate?
Runner sighed lightly and moved closer to the girl. "Mallory," he said to her, more in a pleading tone, "please tell me what's the matter." He stared at her and waited for his gaze to be returned, but she only kept looking off to the wall, or floor, or any other viewpoint that did not include him. So he did the only thing that came to mind; he grabbed her face in his hands and forced her to look at him, though all was done in the tenderest of ways. "Mallory...please?"
She tried to break free from his hold, but he was obviously determined to get a response of some sort out of her. And how he looked dejected, assuming she refused to speak because she did not trust him! If only he knew. If only he knew it was merely her way of saving him from heartbreak. If only he knew she simply did not want to see him hurt.
When he had moved in to kiss her, memories from Valentine's Night all too quickly flashed through her mind. How Spot had deceived her, how he had gotten from her what Runner had allowed her time to give freely. It aggravated her, but more so saddened her.
"Mallory, did someone hurt you?" Runner cocked his head to one side, still pressing to know what bothered the girl. Why was she suddenly being so guarded around him? Had he done something wrong? Was she angry with him for some reason? He mentally prayed that she would confide in him, but her expressions didn't alter at all. He was about to give up when quite out of nowhere, the words came from her mouth.
"Remember when those boys gave us trouble?" she asked, her voice shaking the whole while. Not waiting for an answer, she went on. "You told me to go get Spot's help in Brooklyn. I didn't want to leave you, but I did because I knew I, myself, couldn't help you in any way. One of the guys had chased after me, but I lost him eventually." The reiteration trailed off there, and at first Runner thought she would relate a fact of her having been offended by some goon from Queens, but her story took off again.
"I got to Brooklyn, and I was in a panic. I think half the guys there believed I was insane. I told Spot everything about what had happened, and how you desperately needed his help before those boys killed you." Pausing for a moment to fill her lungs with air, she remembered clearly what Spot had told her. "Your cousin didn't want me to return back into rain; he said I'd catch my death if I did. The problem arose when he didn't want to go out in the rain, either. Instead of heading off to Queens, himself, he sent a few of his newsboys to take care of the matter."
Runner momentarily glanced away, hurt that Spot had not deemed his getting soaked to death a top priority to tend to. Was that why the Brooklyn leader hadn't arrived to Queens until late the next morning? Was it really rain that had scared him off?
Mallory shook her head; there was no way she could continue with the account. What was she to say? How would she explain what had been racing through her head at the time? She shuddered, only catching Runner's attention and reminding him of the circumstances presently at hand. Mallory had a purpose in revealing him these things, and he wasn't about to let her forget them so easily.
"So then what?"
"Spot suggested I change into warmer clothes," she said quickly. She risked a glance his way and instantly regretted it. It was as if he weren't even registering the possibility yet! Perhaps he trusted her so much to believe she'd never do the thing she had done. "He took me to his room, and we started to talk..." A tear fell from her eyes. "Lucas, I'm...I can't do this, it's not...please don't make me..." She covered her face in her hands, willing them to hide her from him but knowing they never would. The truth would have to come out eventually.
"Mallory..." Runner took her hands into his own and laced their fingers together with an encouraging smile. Then, leaning his forehead onto hers, he told her he'd always be someone she could trust, and that nothing she said would ever ruin what they had.
For good reasons, Mallory knew that wouldn't be so within the next few minutes. However, she knew keeping from him would only severe their relations, so finding the last of her confidence she took a deep breath and finished what she had started.
"He told me you were only using me, Lucas. Spot told me I meant nothing to you, and that I was no more than another award for you to flaunt. I know now that it's not true but back then I didn't. I believed him...and I'm so sorry. He...he was the only one I thought I could trust after that, and, well I needed to cry it all out. So he comforted me that night." A lump formed in her throat and when she spoke next, the sounds of a coming sob were evident in her voice. "But your cousin had other intentions while he held me. Knowing I was vulnerable, he started to kiss me..."
By then, Runner had wrapped a supporting arm around her backside, yet when she admitted that last statement, she felt the arm tense. It ceased in rubbing the fabric of her blouse soothingly and was drawn back in offense. Runner's eyes were narrowed in confusion as he stepped away from her, betrayal written clearly in his reactions.
"You let him kiss you?" He asked not because he needed verification, but because he couldn't accept the fact that she had done something of the like. Why would she turn her back on him? And with his very own cousin! His shock promptly evolved into anger, one that lashed out violently. "What else did you do with him, Mallory?" he snapped. "I can't believe this! Here I am wasting all my damn time wondering when the hell I'll get enough courage to ask you out, and you're busy screwing my cousin!"
Mallory gasped at the words. Never had she heard the boy speak in such a low manner. She knew he had once been a newsie, but his demeanor was always respectful to her. Now he made her feel like a bordello woman being verbally abused by one of her displeased customers. "Lucas, please let me explain. Spot wanted to go further but..."
"Damnit, Mallory! I don't want to hear it! What are you going to tell me? That you were too worried about little ol' me? That you had to at least wait a few more days before letting him knock you up?!" He combed his fingers through his hair furiously and kicked a nearby bookcase with all his might, dozens of hardback volumes scattering onto the floor when the piece of furniture toppled over.
Mallory could no longer contain the tears. She had expected Runner to be maddened, but never would she have guessed he'd degrade her as he was doing now. He wouldn't even let her tell him the entirety of the tale! How dare he judge her without listening to all she had to say! She knew she couldn't be mad, but she could care less. At the moment, he was acting no better than Spot had. Why should she throw away her valuable time trying to make him comprehend something he didn't want to hear?
She pushed herself off the desk and headed for the door, willing herself to not offer as much as a look towards Runner. Perhaps he just needed to let the frustration out of his system now. Perhaps he'd be easier to speak to later.
Runner slammed his fist into a wall, and then spun around at the sound of his door opening. "Oh, leaving so soon?" he called after Mallory, disdain dripping from each word. "Probably off to see Spot, right? How many times is he going to bed you today?!" She closed the door with a sob and was out of sight. Runner snatched a sculpture from his desk and flung it at the door, the clay pieces rupturing into oblivion upon impact.
"Damn you, Mallory," he hissed as he sagged his body against a wall. He slid down the surface until he was seated on the floor and buried his face into his knees.
For the next hour, the room was filled with nothing but his cries.
~*~*~*~*~
A.N. Okay, short shout-outs this time around. ^_^ Lots of love to: Tiger, Chewy, imaginelet, kellyanne, Drama-Queen, Rhapsody, Lovable, asp, and StupidChocolateGurl, Random, dot, and Isabelle Gibson! Thank you everyone! Wow, this story has been long in the making, huh? And it's...almost done! *grabs Runner and starts sobbing* Hahaha. Well, for those of you who want to read a story of mines on the side, check out "The Brooklyn Boys". w00t w00t!
*Just A Little Bet*
The Manhattan distribution center was crowded with throngs of newsies as the paper-peddling youth of the borough waited in a huddle to obtain their share of editions, some playfully brawling with each other, others talking in low voices, and most trying to drive away the tiredness of yet another day. Jack Kelly was at the front of the line as always, his well- defined form leaned onto the brick exterior of the office before him, a grin plastered across his face. His hazel eyes were of a bright honey shade and glowed with playful expectation at the one whose sight they beheld.
"So Vixen...ya thinkin' of sleepin in the boys' bunkroom tahnight?" As he spoke, he wound his hands in and out of the bandana he held, giving them some distraction to tend to as to not deal full attention on the girl.
Vixen crossed her arms with a smirk and raised an eyebrow at the inquiry. Upon first meeting him, she had had every notion to assume Jack a serious fellow, never one to offer sly and devious comments to a lady whose company he desired. Unlike the scabs in Brooklyn, Jack's newsies were somewhat more tolerant and cordial, the gentlemen of the lower class. Yet here the leader was, never ceasing in trying to break her guards, especially when an audience of his boys was nearby.
"Nah," she said slowly, diverting her gaze as if in deep thought. "I'se hoid there's alotta rats in that damn hellhole of yours, and not all of them is rodents." She winked at him, then, and walked forth to cut him in line.
Jack rolled his eyes while Blink, Bumlets, Race, and Much laughed, but remained of a suave demeanor while he kept up his post upon the wall his body leaned against. He tied his bandana around his neck and then relaxed his arms at his sides, all the while staring at Vixen's figures, one side of his mouth upturned into a smirk.
Drumming his fingers against the wall, he ignored the snickering of his friends and instead thought upon how he could possibly win this girl over. She was a sexpot...smart and cunning. She wasn't going to let this be any easier for him than he would make it for her, but he appreciated that. It made the experience all the more worthwhile.
A few minutes passed and he grew restless. What was taking the distributors so long today? Usually, the newsies were situated with their papers and ready to hawk headlines by an hour past dawn. Jack shuffled his feet so as to prevent them from falling asleep and let his eyes once again fall upon Vixen's backside. Her long caramel-colored locks trailed down her back like velvet streamers, filling the Manhattan leader with an urge to comb his fingers through them.
Then again, he knew doing something of the like when a handful of his newsies were undoubtedly watching would spread the rumor that he was going soft. He groaned and fixed his cowboy hat further down his head to hide in the shadows it cast across his face. The sun was steadily growing strong and he would have nothing to do with its burning rays.
"Ya know what I wonder, Jack?"
He looked up; a bit surprised Vixen had spoken. She was still facing the other way, but somehow it meant much knowing she had been the first to start the conversation. "Why we'se aint never slept together? Yea, I know. I wonders 'bout that too a lot. Alls ya gotta do is ask me, though, sweet face. I'll take ya fer a ride any night."
Vixen turned to face him now, gracing his pride with a wicked smile. "Oh trust me, Jack. When I'se wants tah sleep wid youse, you'll know it. You'd get as much of me as ya want but won't ever feel a damn thing cause it'll all be in ya sick dreams."
They tried to stare down each other after this, but seeing that neither was willing to renounce pride and walk away from the duel, Jack spoke up, eyes affixed on Vixen. "So what did ya wanna know darlin'?"
Tired of this trivial game, she stepped closer to him and rested her back onto the wall beside him, able to see the line of newsies extend in a queue that far exceeded any length she knew. How many street rats like her were there? Her mind began to deliberate this issue, but when she felt Jack's eyes pierce through her flesh she remembered what she had wanted to ask of him.
"Didn't ya say something 'bout youse not wantin' anything tah do wid Brooklyn?"
Jack shrugged. "Yea," he answered simply.
"Well, then why did ya help Spot when he came over heah fer Manhattan's help? I mean, youse went off every night 'bout how much ya hated the bastard and how ya wished he'd get what was comin' tah him one day...but as soon as he comes knockin' on ya door fer help, ya jump. I just, I dunno...I'se just aint never understood that I guess."
Jack wasn't sure what had prompted her to ask the question, but he was thankful to the source nonetheless. He hadn't even discussed with his own emotions why he had been so forgiving when Spot was at his time of need. Why hadn't he slammed the door in Spot's face? Why hadn't he simply claim that Runner wasn't Manhattan's problem? He supposed it, first of all, had to do with the fact that Runner *was* everyone's problem, for he was best friend to almost everyone within the alliance community. This being realized, he certainly couldn't turn down an attempt to rescue the young Conlon from Brooklyn's top enemy.
Then there was the case of Jack's run-in with Spot. Any sane person would have to admit that the comrades arguing over some girl they both knew nothing about was pure ludicrous! They had been best friends for the longest of time...how could they let something so absurd get in the way of that friendship? Jack knew this, and he assumed Spot did as well. But both were too prideful to admit it.
Up until Brooklyn required Manhattan's help. Jack couldn't imagine what it had taken for the most revered newsie throughout the state to embrace humility and confess he needed help...that the almighty Spot Conlon, hero of the young riffraff's legends, wasn't as infallible as the tales depicted him. Maybe Jack thought that an apology all in itself, for Spot had never before submitted himself to anyone...and vowed he never again would.
"I don't know," was Jack's only reply after all that thought. "I guess it's just stupid holdin' things against someone, ya know? Shoah we'se done some stupid crap tah each other, and have fought fer no reason. But above all, Spot's me best friend, so I aint gunna stop talkin' tah him or anything."
Vixen nodded, fully understanding. "I think I know what ya mean," she said softly, her eyes almost glazed. "Me and Runnah were like the woise enemies youse would ever see. God, I hated that kid...and I coulda sworn he wanted tah kill me sometimes. We'se cursed each other out, fought for Spot's attention, and just tried tah find ways tah get the other kicked outta Brooklyn fer good."
The distribution office opened, and Vixen momentarily paused her reiteration to buy her daily supply of forty papers. She descended the mini staircase on the side of the platform situated before the office and waited for Jack to collect his editions. When the Manhattan leader joined her minutes later, they started to walk on together towards the streets.
"When I found out that Runnah was in a coma," she finished, "I found meself prayin' that he'd wake up. Yea, me and the kid has been through hell, but no one desoives tah die the way he was beaten up. At least no one like him. Seein' him near dead at the hospital made me forgive him fer everything." She smiled up at him and was inwardly warmed to see him smile back.
Jack draped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "Awww, Vixie. Youse is goin' soft on someone? Before ya know it, you'll be kissin' the kid and tellin' him youse will always be heah fer him."
"Actually, that's already been done, sweetheart. At the party we'se held fer him last night? Well, I felt so bad that I figured I owed him as much." She laughed at his displeased face, pulled away from his embrace, and walked off proud as ever.
Jack glared after her. Why did Runner always get the girls?
~*~*~*~*~
Scribbling away on a piece of paper while in the silent confines of his private room in the monastery, Runner's lips were graced with a smile as his mind set its thinking elsewhere. Brooklyn and Manhattan had thrown him a 'homecoming' party at Irving Hall, one which had required him to sneak away from his father's supervision to attend, and it had proven to be quite the bash. Everyone had seemed to be enthralled that he was once again in good health, and that alone made him feel of more human worth. Even once- enemies had wished him well upon learning that he had awoken from his coma.
Medda sang a special song for his return, her beautiful eyes directed solely on him the whole time. It was enough to make all the others incredibly envious...enough to make Runner grin all the more at the fine treatment he was receiving. His teachers were understanding whenever he wished to leave class early because of 'headaches' and the load of work he received from classes drastically decreased from its typical size. He was, to say the least, living quite the life.
Although he didn't particularly like his father any more for the unkind words he had spoken to Spot at the hospital that one night. Runner had learned of the event from Angel, and though he wasn't too surprised, it still disappointed him that the man dared obtain the audacity to speak to Spot in such a condescending manner. Well, he could speak for himself all he wished, the young Conlon decided, but Runner would never turn his back on his own blood.
His anger coursing through him, he erred in a sentence he had been translating into another language, the ink blotting across the thin paper in an unattractive smear. Runner groaned, crumbled the sheet into a ball, and started over yet again. He knew one day he'd have to stand up to his father, himself, but things were just too hard nowadays. For once thing, his parents treated him as if he were a fragile, glass ornament that would shatter any minute if mishandled. It drove him utterly mad, especially when they prohibited him from socializing with large crowds during recreation and dropped him out of the sport teams he had been planning to participate in during late spring.
Sure he still wore the cloth bandage about his forehead, but he was healthier than ever! Why couldn't they see that? Another thing that worried him was his father's refusal to let him be in the company of the newsies. Runner cursed; the newsies were the best friends he had ever met! He'd sooner leave this lifestyle than sacrifice his friendship with them.
It seemed as if Father Romanik was the only one who understood him sometimes. Unlike Runner's own dad, Father Romanik cared nothing for social classes, wealth, or other petty matters of the like and he wasn't in any bit a hypocrite. He was an honest, kind man with a big heart who was always ready to hear one out. When was the last time Father Conlon had mirrored such attributes?
Runner shook his head and pushed the matter aside. It only frustrated him to think of his father, so why should he stress himself out with the thoughts? His hand taking up the natural flow of translating, he once more let his subconscious disengage to daydreams.
He had just reached the last few sentences in his document when someone knocked upon his door, startling him and causing his pen's ink to daub across the paper that would've been his final draft.
"Come in," he sighed, as he ripped the sheet down the middle and disposed of it. He fully expected his visitor to be either his mother or father, come to retrieve him for some service he had all but forgotten, yet when the person didn't speak right away, Runner looked up from his desk and was rendered speechless at the sight before him. It was Mallory! His heart had been with her all along, and when he hadn't seen her at Irving Hall the other night, he wouldn't grant his mind the pleasure of dwelling on the reasons why. Though he hadn't seen her at all during lunch or in the hallways of school, he knew that she would eventually come to him if she cared about him as he did her.
Mallory shyly walked into the room and closed the door behind her, not being able to wipe the smile from her face as she did so. They both knew she was skipping class to be there, but neither of them really cared. She folded her hands behind her back and stood looking at him, as if unsure of what to do. If anything, she hoped that he would not sense her palpitating heart and nervousness.
Runner's grin spread from ear to ear. He arose to his feet in a quick movement, walked around his desk, and approached the girl affectionately. "Mallory, I thought the administration had sent you home...where've you been?" When he was just inches from her, he held out his arms and beckoned her forth. She willingly accepted the gesture and they stood in a gripping hug for the following moments, cherishing every single second.
"Oh, I've been here," she said softly, her arms still around his neck and her head resting upon his shoulder. "I just wanted to give you time to...recuperate, I guess."
Holding her like that, he knew he didn't want to let go. Ever. She felt so soft within his arms, a treasure only for him. He wanted to squeeze her tighter and tell her how much he had missed her; he wanted to entangle his fingers with the curls of her hair and tell her how much she meant to him. Feeling her against him, her breath against his skin and her body pressed into his own, made him want to simply confess his feelings for her.
He breathed in her scent and then slowly pulled away, still embracing her. "Mallory, Valentine's Night I believe we started something we never got to finish." His eyes shone brighter than a jewel hit by the sun's rays, and one could already tell he was about to become the happiest young man alive. He caressed the girl's cheek with one hand and then inch by inch, leaned in towards her lips, every fiber in him aching to taste their sweetness.
But just as he was about to lock the kiss, Mallory stepped back out of his arms and looked away, her face clouding over to hide her thoughts.
"What's the matter?" Runner asked in sheer confusion, stepping closer to her. When she didn't retreat, he continued on until he was holding her again. But she wouldn't look him eye to eye. He placed his thumb below her chin and raised her face upwards. "Mallory," he whispered. "What's wrong? I thought this is what you wanted."
Mallory hugged herself timidly and walked to Runner's desk where she could have the firm structure to lean upon, fearing her knees would give out from under her if she stood without support. She watched with sad eyes as Runner followed her suit worriedly, though he made her all the more tense by choosing to stand right in front of her, one hand placed on the desk to her left.
"Are you okay?" he asked then, when no conversation had passed between the two after a minute. She nodded, but uttered no reply. "Do you want to go back to class? I mean, if you're worried about getting caught, I'll just meet up with you later. It's really no..."
"Lucas, it's not that," she answered, her voice so gentle. She was still trying to figure out why she wasn't shaking as uneasy as she was. Runner's emerald irises seemed to penetrate her defenses to see clearly the lies her heart kept locked up. Did he know about her rendezvous with Spot? Was he waiting for her to reveal it in her own words? Her eyes grew watery as she thought upon the pain she might cause him if he, in fact, was unaware of the event! In place of the love he so dearly showed towards her, would there be only hate?
Runner sighed lightly and moved closer to the girl. "Mallory," he said to her, more in a pleading tone, "please tell me what's the matter." He stared at her and waited for his gaze to be returned, but she only kept looking off to the wall, or floor, or any other viewpoint that did not include him. So he did the only thing that came to mind; he grabbed her face in his hands and forced her to look at him, though all was done in the tenderest of ways. "Mallory...please?"
She tried to break free from his hold, but he was obviously determined to get a response of some sort out of her. And how he looked dejected, assuming she refused to speak because she did not trust him! If only he knew. If only he knew it was merely her way of saving him from heartbreak. If only he knew she simply did not want to see him hurt.
When he had moved in to kiss her, memories from Valentine's Night all too quickly flashed through her mind. How Spot had deceived her, how he had gotten from her what Runner had allowed her time to give freely. It aggravated her, but more so saddened her.
"Mallory, did someone hurt you?" Runner cocked his head to one side, still pressing to know what bothered the girl. Why was she suddenly being so guarded around him? Had he done something wrong? Was she angry with him for some reason? He mentally prayed that she would confide in him, but her expressions didn't alter at all. He was about to give up when quite out of nowhere, the words came from her mouth.
"Remember when those boys gave us trouble?" she asked, her voice shaking the whole while. Not waiting for an answer, she went on. "You told me to go get Spot's help in Brooklyn. I didn't want to leave you, but I did because I knew I, myself, couldn't help you in any way. One of the guys had chased after me, but I lost him eventually." The reiteration trailed off there, and at first Runner thought she would relate a fact of her having been offended by some goon from Queens, but her story took off again.
"I got to Brooklyn, and I was in a panic. I think half the guys there believed I was insane. I told Spot everything about what had happened, and how you desperately needed his help before those boys killed you." Pausing for a moment to fill her lungs with air, she remembered clearly what Spot had told her. "Your cousin didn't want me to return back into rain; he said I'd catch my death if I did. The problem arose when he didn't want to go out in the rain, either. Instead of heading off to Queens, himself, he sent a few of his newsboys to take care of the matter."
Runner momentarily glanced away, hurt that Spot had not deemed his getting soaked to death a top priority to tend to. Was that why the Brooklyn leader hadn't arrived to Queens until late the next morning? Was it really rain that had scared him off?
Mallory shook her head; there was no way she could continue with the account. What was she to say? How would she explain what had been racing through her head at the time? She shuddered, only catching Runner's attention and reminding him of the circumstances presently at hand. Mallory had a purpose in revealing him these things, and he wasn't about to let her forget them so easily.
"So then what?"
"Spot suggested I change into warmer clothes," she said quickly. She risked a glance his way and instantly regretted it. It was as if he weren't even registering the possibility yet! Perhaps he trusted her so much to believe she'd never do the thing she had done. "He took me to his room, and we started to talk..." A tear fell from her eyes. "Lucas, I'm...I can't do this, it's not...please don't make me..." She covered her face in her hands, willing them to hide her from him but knowing they never would. The truth would have to come out eventually.
"Mallory..." Runner took her hands into his own and laced their fingers together with an encouraging smile. Then, leaning his forehead onto hers, he told her he'd always be someone she could trust, and that nothing she said would ever ruin what they had.
For good reasons, Mallory knew that wouldn't be so within the next few minutes. However, she knew keeping from him would only severe their relations, so finding the last of her confidence she took a deep breath and finished what she had started.
"He told me you were only using me, Lucas. Spot told me I meant nothing to you, and that I was no more than another award for you to flaunt. I know now that it's not true but back then I didn't. I believed him...and I'm so sorry. He...he was the only one I thought I could trust after that, and, well I needed to cry it all out. So he comforted me that night." A lump formed in her throat and when she spoke next, the sounds of a coming sob were evident in her voice. "But your cousin had other intentions while he held me. Knowing I was vulnerable, he started to kiss me..."
By then, Runner had wrapped a supporting arm around her backside, yet when she admitted that last statement, she felt the arm tense. It ceased in rubbing the fabric of her blouse soothingly and was drawn back in offense. Runner's eyes were narrowed in confusion as he stepped away from her, betrayal written clearly in his reactions.
"You let him kiss you?" He asked not because he needed verification, but because he couldn't accept the fact that she had done something of the like. Why would she turn her back on him? And with his very own cousin! His shock promptly evolved into anger, one that lashed out violently. "What else did you do with him, Mallory?" he snapped. "I can't believe this! Here I am wasting all my damn time wondering when the hell I'll get enough courage to ask you out, and you're busy screwing my cousin!"
Mallory gasped at the words. Never had she heard the boy speak in such a low manner. She knew he had once been a newsie, but his demeanor was always respectful to her. Now he made her feel like a bordello woman being verbally abused by one of her displeased customers. "Lucas, please let me explain. Spot wanted to go further but..."
"Damnit, Mallory! I don't want to hear it! What are you going to tell me? That you were too worried about little ol' me? That you had to at least wait a few more days before letting him knock you up?!" He combed his fingers through his hair furiously and kicked a nearby bookcase with all his might, dozens of hardback volumes scattering onto the floor when the piece of furniture toppled over.
Mallory could no longer contain the tears. She had expected Runner to be maddened, but never would she have guessed he'd degrade her as he was doing now. He wouldn't even let her tell him the entirety of the tale! How dare he judge her without listening to all she had to say! She knew she couldn't be mad, but she could care less. At the moment, he was acting no better than Spot had. Why should she throw away her valuable time trying to make him comprehend something he didn't want to hear?
She pushed herself off the desk and headed for the door, willing herself to not offer as much as a look towards Runner. Perhaps he just needed to let the frustration out of his system now. Perhaps he'd be easier to speak to later.
Runner slammed his fist into a wall, and then spun around at the sound of his door opening. "Oh, leaving so soon?" he called after Mallory, disdain dripping from each word. "Probably off to see Spot, right? How many times is he going to bed you today?!" She closed the door with a sob and was out of sight. Runner snatched a sculpture from his desk and flung it at the door, the clay pieces rupturing into oblivion upon impact.
"Damn you, Mallory," he hissed as he sagged his body against a wall. He slid down the surface until he was seated on the floor and buried his face into his knees.
For the next hour, the room was filled with nothing but his cries.
~*~*~*~*~
